


èg elskaði Þig

by Marshtomp



Category: Homestuck
Genre: CHOO CHOO DEPRESSING TRAIN INCOMING, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshtomp/pseuds/Marshtomp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ok so this is some really fucked up AU where basically Aimless Renegade is basically left on desiccated Earth for a while, left to his thoughts. And then in some later chapter someone shows up or something idk I DONT PLAN THESE THINGS</p>
<p>TIIITLE CHANGE because i cant think of any good ones (It means i loved you in icelandic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. èg geta ekki anda

Your name is Aimless Renegade. It has been 24 years since you have been transported to this desert. It’s endless and soul sucking. There really isn't a damned thing here that offers even the slightest sense of existing. Everything is just so unfortunately bleak. The blue sky, the yellow sand, the yellow sun, the yellow bricks making up your home. However, you have found some substance here. It is a large and highly illegal set of munitions. The illegal part doesn’t quite matter, since your last day on the Derse police force was years ago. But partly, you’ve decided that there is no established set of laws out here. And if there was, no ones around to enforce them. The thought of the latter disgusts you, however what are you to do about it?

Regardless, you’ve lost track of the time here. An endless stream of boredom as it seems and the crushing constant of the blue sky seems to only worsen it. You’ve heard of something similar to how you feel; back when you were on Derse,that is. One of your fellow policemen and one of your closer friends had something called Despression or something like that. However, it doesn’t quite matter to you. Nothing really matters anymore. It all seems relatively pointless.  
You’ve found some sort of solace in reliving your days as police chief using a crude set of ammunition as a jury and as an audience. You bang on the ground as much as you want with the hammer you so crudely made out of a hollow shell. It doesn’t change anything—how lonely; how bored; how tired you are especially. If there’s one thing you miss the most about being out on the force, it’s the rush of facing a criminal. To feel… alive; it’s all you truly need anymore. Just some reason to exist. You find peace in old memories, though. When things are specifically bad, you remember your favorite memory:  
You were chasing this thug out of a bar— the dudes been huffing some stuff and the entire police force seems to be wary of him. Everyone but you that is. You find him cornered in the alley and you both know his best bet is to charge you to escape the law. You snarl at him to get on the ground but he refuses. He charges you and pins you to the ground, but he doesn’t get up and flee. He remains there, breathing down your neck. You thought it was the end, but what he didn’t know is that you were well armed. You pull the knife hanging by your side and you manage to make a pretty big gash in the side of his face. Staggering backwards, the perpetrator lets out a fiendish roar and charges you again, this time slapping the knife out of your hand. The knife skitters across the pavement and your first instinct is to run after it, but you figure that you can just take him on without any weaponry. The dude’s already limping; his face oozing blood from the open wound on his cheek.

The rest of the memory to you is a haze, but that’s because you purposely decided to forget the fact that he got away. And, maybe that’s more or less for the better. You seem to beat yourself up over the smaller losses. In your career, you have had a grand total of two criminals get away. The other was some guy who illegally parked his car. You still can’t quite comprehend the how or the why of the situation, all you know is that ticket is still probably there. You sigh, defeated by the thought.

No matter how bad it gets though, there's always one, simple thing that seems to make things a pinch better. The sun setting. You’ve taken some sort of affinity to watching the sun set over the barren desert. It’s the only thing that really makes things worth it anymore. Everything else is just unnecessarily painful. Painful, and lonely. It’s not just that you miss the touch of another person; it’s the fact that you haven’t seen or talked to another person for years on end. This endless set of purgatory seems endless and pointless. You just live because… well, you don’t want to die. It’s such a terrifying thought to you. You don’t feel like living but you’re similarly terrified of death and only because you don’t know what’s going to happen. The only permanent thing you've ever known and to be quite frank, you weren't built to understand permanent; No one was. Death is one of those permanent things. It's horrific to imagine. 

You look at the stars. At night, they're the only things providing any sort of light anymore. They're also one of the only things that provide any sort of sustenance. You watch them, legs hanging off the ledge of the building.

You close your eyes.  
Sleeping just makes everything silent for a while.  
More deafening silence.  
You open your eyes slowly, hoping that maybe everything was just a dream, and that you’re back on Derse. You open your eyes fully, and are thoroughly disappointed. You exhale, sighing, crushed by reality and justly so, disappointed. The same hope you have waking up every morning is similarly crushed every morning. Nevertheless, you manage to sit up, sighing more.

Everything seems to hurt just a bit more today. You’re not sure why. Maybe because you slept funny or something. The sky is its usual, dull, lifeless blue. If you’ve learned to hate any color by now, it’s that disgusting fucking blue.

Maybe, if you just close your eyes, you could sleep the day away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title means i cant breathe


	2. èg sakna Þig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk aimless has nightmares n wakes up half dead metaphorically and reflects on things out loud using speech and then suddenly?!/!1?1?1 zomg!111111!
> 
> i used olafur arnalds song broken to write this entire chapter yay me 
> 
> also shooting for some kind of escapist theme throughout the story so
> 
> this chapter title means i miss you

What in the hell is this. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your head hurts, everything hurts. It takes a second to fully recognize where exactly you are. Purple pavement, purple streets, purple skies, purple everything. Derse? Could it really be? Could those days upon days upon days of mental paralysis... could they really just be the cruel joke of some dream? Staggering, you manage to get up onto your feet, only to realize that the pain seems to intensify with movement. What the hell happened to you? You scour your arms and legs for any sort of bruising or gashes or even blood loss, but you seem to be perfectly fine. You hope to whatever higher power that may exist that you're not about to die. Not like this. Not after serving days upon days of hellish sorrow in a desert as barren as the surface of an extrasolar planet. You sigh. Nothing seems to make any sense whatsoever. Not like it ever really did. 

You stutter through the city streets and, to your absolute horror, you find them barren. Where was the crime-ridden, bustling, destructive, crude, crass city that you loved so much? And with that, you break. You fall on your knees and bury your face into your slick, hard arms. Why? What did you ever do to deserve this? You can't think. You can only stare. You can only stare in utter silence, in utter depravity, in utter stertorous silence. How cruel life must be to play such a joke. Choking on your own tears, you manage a second time, to get on your feet. Vision blurry, and a pressing force upon you, you slink back into the alley that you emerged from. Quietly, coldly you walk through the alley. Maybe it's just a fluke. The street's probably closed. The law must be taking place. The very idea rejuvenates you to some extent, but that feeling left as soon as it came. When was the last time the law actually functioned on Derse? Derse does not follow rules. Laws included. Very rarely are there court cases. Instead, the vast majority of "criminals" are subjected to whatever the cop feels like doing. On a good day, you'd only hear one or two of your fellow cops talking about killing someone. You felt like the only person who cared to uphold the law, and even then you were never really good at it. You liked to think you were. There was one other person who was like you, in some sort of way. He cared for the law as well. Þú elskaðir hann*. You like to think that it was just a fluke, but you did. You loved him. 

This alley is seemingly endless. You remember Dersite alleys being confusing but never enervatingly so. Your vision distorts sending a jolt of pain throughout your body and all you can do is cry out in pain. Cursing under your breath, you try to stutter through the rest of the alley but you don't make it. You collapse to the ground and respire one. last.. time... You see someone reach down to grab you. He picks you up and rests you against a wall. Tending to your wounds, he offers a soft, tranquilizing smile. Closing up your wounds and bandaging you, he hugs you close and whispers "Don't get so dinged up again, hun. I'm worried about you, you know. I love you so much and I never want you to leave...and I hope you know that things are going to be alright." You can feel tears dripping down your face. Not out of sadness, but out of happiness. You are so glad to have him... 

You wake up. You sit up, groggy and defeated. You're not angry that you left Derse. You're not angry that you were so damaged. You're not angry that you escaped, but now you're back. You're angry because you were reminded of one of the single most putrid, one of the single most revolting, one of the single most hurtful memories that you hide. Him. You loved him so much. You hate to admit it, but you just loved him so damn much. And now, he's gone. His last words to you were "It's alright darling. It's going to be alright." And with that, he was gone. You don't like to think about that though.  
You awake in just enough time to see the sun rise. It's the same every day. After a while, seeing the sunrise gets about as uninteresting as the sands that surround it. You can't deal with this anymore. Flatly, you know you can't. You know that things aren't going to be alright, and you know that eventually, your time will be up. You're scared. You're so scared and you never want to be alone for that. You thought you had someone. You thought it was going to be alright, you thought things would be ok. 

 

Well, you thought wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to rate the chapter, comment on the chapter, and eat the chapter if you want to see chapters similar to this one. 
> 
> *ICELANDIC THROW INS  
> "Þú elskaðir hann" is "you loved him"

**Author's Note:**

> I GUESS ILL JUST ASK FOR FEEDBACK AND WHETHER OR NOT I SHOULD CONTINUE OR SCRAP THIS AND MOVE ON


End file.
